


After Sydney

by rotbody



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Breathplay, Drunk Sex, Frottage, M/M, Spicy language, and run on sentences, endless parentheticals, sorta - Freeform, vOv
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-14 09:45:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7166156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotbody/pseuds/rotbody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Junkrat has a type, but he also keeps business and pleasure separate. Or, he tries to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After Sydney

Junkrat's always been hot for the biggest, meanest guy in the room. Nothin' new. He's been beating it to cruel motherfuckers ever since he figured out what his dick was for. He couldn't tell you why, just that he knows what he likes.

Roadhog's really no different than the other guys that fueled his wank fantasies. He's mean, yeah, he's not the first guy that Rat's met that took real pleasure in hurting people, either. Now, that ain't really Junkrat's thing. He's not out to pick fights. He likes his explosions, yeah, likes his traps and his nasty little bombs, but he doesn't care if someone gets hurt. He's not gonna avoid it, not gonna strive for it, either. But Hog....if Junkrat didn't know any better (shit, he probably _doesn't_ ), he'd think the guy got off on killing.

And damn if that doesn't give Junkrat a sick little shiver every time it crosses his mind.

He had tried to keep it professional, too, between them. Really, he tried. Really, really. He'd tried to have some respect, you know, it's not like Hog's just some random bloke. He'd have to work with the guy in the morning and all that. So, yeah. Professional.

But then Hog would go and hook someone, do that grunt of his (the one that means he's satisfied), or just straight up chuckle as he blasted someone in the face and _fuck_. Junkrat'd be rock hard in his shorts, and would have to go and lob a few grenades extra hard to work of a little bit of that frustration. A little bit. Not enough. But enough to keep the edge off, for now.

It had all been fine until that suit cunt in Sydney tried to set them up. Not that that had gone poorly, no, it'd been fun in the end. Blowing that asshole up had been mighty satisfying, and they still got paid, didn't they? Nah, that was the normal part. The weird part, the fucked up part happened after they sped out of the city in Hog's chopper. 

It didn't really matter where they ended up. Junkrat trusted the big lug to find them some bolthole for the night, and they'd be nice and safe after leaving their typical wake of destruction. Just like always. The particular hole for this evening was some old warehouse, once taken over by squatters and then abandoned again. Junkrat's got the tendency to rifle through every place they stay because it's always fun to do a bit of looting, even in a shithole like this. Look in all the nooks and crannies, and you can find some nice stuff. This time it's a jackpot, a big jug of what could be ethanol, but Rat reckons it's definitely vodka. Cheap shit, but hey. They just did a big job, time to celebrate.

He kills about a quarter of the jug on his own. Hog doesn't drink. At least, Junkrat doesn't see him drink, but he's not paying attention. Doesn't matter. He's busy recounting the story to the big guy, even though they were both there, even though it just happened a few hours ago. Doesn't matter. He's having fun, laughing, cackling, exaggerating the explosions (but they had been GOOD explosions, so it's only a little exaggeration), and when he gets to the part where Roadhog hooked that fucking cunt of a suit, he hears it. That rough, gravely laugh of Hog's, filtered through his mask, and fuck he's got it bad now, doesn't he? Just that laugh's enough to set Rat off now.

He's going to go crazy if he keeps ignoring it. Well. Crazier, if that's even possible. And right now, he's just the right amount of drunk, still surfing that surging wave of adrenaline that comes from a good heist, that he thinks to hell with professionalism. It's now or never, ain't it?

One more drink, one more good pull from the jug of probably-vodka, and he flops onto his back. The warehouse's floor is hard and dusty, but he doesn't give a shit. He lets his hand (not the good one, not the one he designed himself) fall onto Roadhog's thigh.

"Look, mate," he starts, slurring and not caring. Fuck it, right? "I've been doing this professional thing, right, since you're body guarding me and all, but I'd really like to fuck you."

He just says it, doesn't let himself think about it, because if he sat down and really made himself _think_ about everything, he'd never get anything done. 

And Roadhog looks at him, grunts. Shrugs. Then nods. And shit- Junkrat can't believe it. It's that easy? All this time and he was trying to be reserved and it was that easy? He can't help it, he laughs again, half-crazed, and then, because nothing's stopping him, he strips. It isn't quick, he's gotta wiggle around a bit to get the more difficult pieces off, it isn't elegant, but nothing a Junker does is ever _elegant_ , god forbid. 

But then he's naked, on that dirty floor, and there's an equally dirty mattress not ten feet away, but why bother? He's not particular. He doubts Hog is, either. The big man snorts, or it sounds like it, through that mask, but he's moving too, snapping buckles and straps and _fuck_ , this is it. This is really it. 

The mask stays on, and really, Junkrat's fine with that. Expected it. He likes the mask, he isn't gonna complain. It's part of the whole thing, isn't it? But the pants come undone, that's all that really matters, and Junkrat can fit himself between those big thighs, push their cocks together (Hog's hard, was he always hard? Did just seeing Junkrat all exposed get him excited? Too many possibilities, too much to think about), rut against him.

It's frantic, unromantic, there's no finesse in it. When Junkrat feels a heavy hand on his shoulder, he automatically adjusts it so Roadhog's fingers are on his neck instead. He feels the thick, calloused fingers push against his pulse, against his windpipe, and that's it. He comes like it's a punch to his gut, but keeps thrusting, jabbering some nonsense about how hot Hog is, but shit, it's the truth, there ain't nothing hotter to Junkrat in the world. His hands reach down, working on Roadhog's dick, trying to get him off, he wants to see him _come_ , and he isn't disappointed. Sure, the mask blocks his view, but he can hear that low, satisfied groan, see the way his head drops back as Rat works his cock, and that's good enough.

They fall asleep, or at least, Rat does, on that filthy fucking floor, and Junkrat couldn't be happier. Looks like, for once, he gets to have his damn cake and eat it too. He'll see how it goes in the morning, but he doesn't have any doubts now.

**Author's Note:**

> rotbody.tumblr.com to join me in hell


End file.
